


Hands

by cyborgchickenbanana



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Protective Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 03:55:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23005345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyborgchickenbanana/pseuds/cyborgchickenbanana
Summary: Even if no one else can see it, there’s still blood on Bucky’s hands and he’s doing his best to wash it off.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Peter Parker, James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes & Tony Stark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 89





	Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I've been quite tired lately so... not much writing has been happening... I hope you like this oneshot-I experimented a lot with my writing style during this. I just really like Bucky Barnes and he just deserves better. I hope you enjoy this. The ending is a little rough. ok...

Most times, Bucky was the one to reach out. He was always the one lending a hand. It was one of those instincts that became more prevalent after escaping H.Y.D.R.A. One he didn’t understand yet.

\--

Steve was upset. Bucky didn’t need to look at him to know. Didn’t need to touch him, either. Somehow, he just knew. Some sort of third eye had slowly been opened that allowed Bucky to see Steve’s feelings and thoughts. He was so in sync with Steve that it was disorienting when Steve couldn’t understand Bucky in the same way.

Agitation seemed to hang around the blonde like a foggy cloud. Bucky had to calm Steve down. No real reason, except he just knew he  _ had _ to. What did Steve do to calm down? Nothing came to mind at first. Steve was a fighter. Always had been, and seemingly always would be.

Drawing. Memories of graphite smeared across bony hands and years worth of savings going into a simple pack of pencils and leatherback sketchbooks flooded into Bucky like an adrenaline rush.

While passing Steve a black ballpoint pen with his metal hand, Bucky laid his flesh hand out in front of the captain. Steve took the pen without question. Like he’d done it a million times before. He probably had. Within a few seconds, the sensation of the tip of the pen dragging across Bucky’s skin appeared in soothing tingles.

Steve wasn’t upset anymore. His shoulders had released their tension, but Bucky didn’t need to look at him to know that. The former Winter Soldier just focused on the masterpiece covering his right arm. It was much prettier than his left arm.

\--

Sam seemed alright at first. Relaxed, in other words. Or, relaxed as he supposedly could be. They had just gotten coffee. Sam liked coffee. He was always in a better mood after coffee, as was Bucky. The bitter smell hung around the Falcon in a thick cloud. The scent was nice. Better than blood.

The streets of New York were bitterly cold. It was a different bitter than coffee. Swarms of civilians moved down the sidewalk, mercilessly bumping shoulders with Sam and Bucky when they didn’t move out of the way fast enough. Whenever someone exhaled, Bucky could see a lazy snake of fog.

Something across the street had abruptly grabbed Sam’s attention and didn’t seem to want to let go anytime soon. Whatever it was seemed to make the ex-military officer nervous. In what seemed like a well-rehearsed singular motion, Sam unzipped his darkly colored coat, took his hood off, pulled his hands out of his pockets and splayed his fingers out against his thighs.

Wanting to understand his actions, Bucky followed his companion’s gaze. A police officer was eyeing them. His pasty face was pulled into a look of suspicion. Clearly, the officer was about to approach them. No, not  _ them _ . He was going to approach  _ Sam _ . The threat.

Leaning down, Bucky muttered into Sam’s ear, “It’s alright, I’m here. No one will hurt you while I’m here.” He took the other man’s hand and relished in the warmth he felt through his mitten. The police officer wasn’t looking at Sam anymore.

\--

Howard’s son-Tony-seemed to think he was unreadable. To most, Tony probably  _ was _ unreadable, but Bucky could see through it all. Not because he  _ tried _ to or  _ wanted _ to. Just did. It was obvious-to Bucky at least. “Abuse survivor” was written all over the supposed “Iron Man”.

Against what he had hoped, Bucky wasn’t the only one who wanted a snack at two in the morning. Though the lights were dim, the other person in the kitchen was clearly Howard’s son. Before the ex-assassin could abort his hunger-motivated mission, the engineer spotted him and instantly startled. All he did was jump a bit, but it caused him to slip and his arms went flailing, knocking a glass to the floor and shattering it.

The noise resonated in the air a moment longer than it should’ve. Tony startled at that too, but he didn’t break anything else. Fear and tension buzzed in the air and filled it like white noise. Noise. The sound of the cup breaking had scared him, but Bucky couldn’t decide why. Did it remind him of another noise? Bombs? Guns? Screams? Or was it the usual repercussions of breaking things? Yelling? Hitting? Throwing?

Foolishly, the heir of Stark Industries reached down to pick up the sharp shards-and immediately pulled his hand away, wincing. After bringing his finger to his lips for a moment, he bent down to try again. No. He shouldn’t do that. He would only hurt himself. Bucky stepped forward, held his hand out it a “halt” motion and picked the pieces up himself. They didn’t cut his metal arm.

After swiftly throwing the glass away, Bucky blindly grabbed a napkin. He glanced at Tony’s large doe eyes. They weren’t as afraid as before. Bucky gently pressed the napkin against the man’s finger. No more blood.

\--

It was hard to know with Natalia-no,  _ Natasha _ . That’s what she went by. Natasha had always been hard to understand, even in the Red Room. Luckily, Bucky gave up on trying to understand things awhile ago. Understanding came unexpectedly and expecting it would only prolong it.

She might’ve been irritated, but it was hard to tell. All that Bucky knew was that Natasha wasn’t happy. Energy was coiled up in the redhead, ready to pounce. And although Bucky knew  _ very _ well that his former student could control herself and her emotions better than himself, Bucky still felt the need to calm her.

Trying to be slick about it wouldn’t do any good, so the brunette promptly placed his hand over the other ex-assassin’s. He didn’t grab her hand. Just laid it out flat on top of hers. He didn’t want Natasha to think he was holding her back. Bucky just wanted to make her aware of his presence.

Natasha didn’t take his hand. But she didn’t push it away either. Didn’t pull hers away. Just let it be. And although Bucky could tell she felt a  _ little _ better, it was clear that the Black Widow was still just as alert.

Running his fingers over her knuckles slowly, Bucky’s mouth ached to tell her that it was ok. She could let her guard down. Maybe he didn’t need to say it, though, because she already seemed to know.

\--

He hears himself say Steve’s name.

His legs. His legs aren’t working.

He tries taking a step forward.

His foot.

Where is his foot?

There is nothing to step o

He falls forwar

Where are his 

What is hap

Everything i

He wants it to st

_ Darkness. _

_ For just a moment. _

_ Almost silence except there are so many voices. _

_ So many voices. _

Bucky opens his eyes to observe an orange haze of a sky rippling over him. Before he notices that, though, he is painfully aware of how dry his throat is. The taste of dust is potent. Thick clouds of what must be the dust he tastes hang in the air of… wherever Bucky is.

There’s not much left to do but get up, so that’s what the ex-assassin does. The sources of the voices are ones he doesn’t recognize. They’re all so different... but not the most bizarre group of people Bucky has ever seen. Everyone is confused. Afraid. Panicked. Angry, even.

After checking to see that his body seems to be in working condition, Bucky scans the terrain for anyone, anything he might recognize.

What catches his eye isn’t what he expects. A small figure clad in red, black, and gold curled in on itself, sitting on the ground in the crowd of yelling people. The figure seems to be alone and… scared. Shaking. They don’t have anything covering their head of chocolate-colored curls but their face is hidden in their arms.

Doing his best not to shove too roughly, Bucky makes his way to the figure for a reason he can’t explain. Some need to protect the figure. Whoever they are.

The figure’s suit is familiar. The airport. The kid with the webs. Stark’s kid. The boy’s hands are clutching his head as he sobs, glancing up a little like he’s expecting someone.

Their eyes meet. The boy’s eyes are doe-like and look so hopelessly lost it physically pains Bucky.

“Jesus?” The kid stops crying for a moment, innocent curiosity painting his face as he looks up at the man.

Bucky crouches down, “Nope. I’m Bucky.” It feels good to introduce himself like that. “We’ve met before.”

Hands still over his ears the boy mutters, “I don’ remember you.” A couple of sniffles follow, and the tears keep flowing. “I-I’m Peter.” He looks past Bucky into the crowd. He’s looking for somebody.

“Who are you looking for?” Maybe a straightforward question will calm Peter down.

If it’s possible, the tears come at a greater rate as Peter swallows hard, “Uh, Mister Stark. He was wi-was with me before-before this all-before I got all dusty. D’you know where he is?”

A loud crash erupts from within the herd of people and Peter flinches harshly. He’s noise sensitive. Bucky takes note of this and simply shakes his head in response.

“Are-are you sure?”

A nod this time.

It doesn’t seem to help.

“But I ne-need him. I can’t-I don’t know what to do-I-I-” anguished noises escape the boy’s mouth, but it’s not loud enough to cut through the chaos. Just another troubled voice. The sobs wrack his body and the shaking gets much, much worse.

This was different. Bucky was never trained to handle these types of situations. Not in the military and not in H.Y.D.R.A. And if he did have experience with this in the past, the memories aren’t revealing themselves at the moment.

It’s risky but Bucky reaches out and takes Peter’s trembling hands in his own. “Match my breathing, okay?” It isn’t a command but Peter tries to comply anyways.

The two of them just sit there and breathe as whatever world they’re in rages around them. Just breathing. Peter’s shoulders drop, his hands still, his breathing slows, and his sobs quiet. His still hands are still encased in Bucky’s but he doesn’t seem to be afraid. He leans into the physical contact with a craving similar to a puppy. At one point the former Winter Soldier finds himself hugging the boy, arms securely holding him. Just breathing.

“Is there anyone else you know? Anyone else we can try to look for?”

“Um… Mister Doctor Strange?”

“Alright then, let’s go.” 

\--

Maybe Bucky didn’t need to understand why he always felt the need to comfort others. Maybe he didn’t really want to. Understanding was good but not understanding wasn’t bad. The understanding was beginning to reveal itself, though, and Bucky had a feeling he would know why he always extended his hand soon enough.


End file.
